


Mana Burn

by oculeths (CherryK)



Series: Azeroth and Beyond - A Collection of Cherry's OC Shenanigans [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Bad Parenting, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Mages, Overexertion, Sparring, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23216788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryK/pseuds/oculeths
Summary: Ilethar is forced to fight his father in training until his body can't take any more.
Series: Azeroth and Beyond - A Collection of Cherry's OC Shenanigans [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1323353
Kudos: 1





	Mana Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here's me trying to close Ilethar's current character arc.

“Again,“ Xevernias growls impatiently, diving out of the way to avoid the bolts of arcane energy flying his way. For his age and figure, the Shen’dralar mage remains quite agile – much to Ilethar’s dismay.

The younger Kaldorei wipes at his brow with a sleeve, to halt the sweat from dripping down into his eyes. “Again?” He attempts to catch his breath. His limbs tremble from the effort and his head aches from spending his mana so heedlessly. “We’ve been at it for hours, father, I can’t-“

“What do you mean, you can’t? Has mooching about with those humans of yours softened you, son?” Xevernias’ features distort into a toothy grin. “Come on now, I said ‘ _again’_!”

The past weeks have already proven that there is no arguing with this man – once he has started something, he will see it through, no matter the consequences. At least they have that in common, Ilethar thinks grimly. He grits his teeth, suddenly missing the old days he spent practising spells in Dalaran. There he would at least be allowed to take breaks.

“Fine,” he spits under his breath. “I’ll get you this time.”

For a moment he closes his eyes, focusing inward. He can feel his very veins burning from the loss of mana. Once more. Spite is what has kept Ilethar walking down the path of the arcane, and spite is what may well end him one day. If that day is today, at least it might wipe that obnoxious grin off his father’s face.

Ilethar opens his eyes as he draws on the magic within him, tears every fragment of it from his body, and begins to mould it. His mind screams, his nerves aflame, his vision blurring around the edges.

By the time he’s ready to unleash his spell, Xevernias is prepared. The arcane missile bolts from Ilethar’s hands – a bright ball of energy, seeking its target. Yet, the mage fails to guide it, loses his grip. Xevernias sidesteps and evades it by a few inches. The bolt hits the wall behind him and bursts into a thousand glinting shards, which soon disappear into thin air, fusing with the energies around them.

“How _disappointing_ … is that all you’ve got?”

Ilethar’s vision turns black for a moment. He only notices his legs giving way as his knees hit the stone floor. Suddenly he feels very much like vomiting, his body rebelling against the exertion, yet barely manages to hold himself together. A pair of legs step into view before him and he half-expects Xevernias to push him over.

Instead his father sets a glass vial down next to him. It contains a swirling blue liquid, the colour shifting slightly in the light of the torches on the walls. Ilethar recognizes it in an instant, having used many such a potion in his life. A mana draught, that would restore his spirits in due time.

“Drink up, son,” Xevernias drawls, his feet now retreating – he’s leaving the room they’ve occupied, “And _don’t_ fail me again tomorrow.”

He’s not sure what stings worse: the liquid fire in his veins, his body emptied of all potential, or his father’s snide comment.

Until the sound of footsteps has died in the distance, Ilethar holds out in his position on the floor, shivering in cold sweat. All he sees is the small potion bottle. He’s not quite sure if the withdrawal is driving him mad yet, but he swears he’s just heard his mother yelling at him. She sounds just like him, he thinks. They must have been quite the pair.

A mere moment later he can no longer bear it. With shaking hands, he rips the cork from the vial and hastily gulps down its contents. The world slowly shifts back into focus, then. Ilethar just sits, breathes, waits for the draught to clear his thoughts. It’s left a bitter taste at the back of his throat.

Tomorrow he’ll find himself back here, in this dark and dusty corner of Eldre’thalas, flinging magic at his father until either he breaks, or he lands a hit. He’s avoided combat for so long. This is his own negligence finally catching up with him. With a groan Ilethar lifts himself off the ground, his limbs leaden and his head still spinning.

For today he will rest.

Tomorrow he will, for once in his Light-forsaken life, live up to someone’s expectations and earn his father’s approval.

**Author's Note:**

> There may be more to this later, who knows!


End file.
